


The Grieving Process

by ShiroiKabocha



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Loss, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiroiKabocha/pseuds/ShiroiKabocha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Kanaya wants is not what Vriska needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grieving Process

The elevator moves too slowly. It’s only six floors, not six hundred. Once she’s past the doors—with their incessant questions about passes and hospital protocol and her right to be there—Kanaya finds Vriska on the couch in the waiting room, and she knows she’s too late.

Would getting there in time have even mattered?

Kanaya slides into place beside Vriska on the couch. She takes Vriska’s hands in her own; Vriska doesn't turn her face to speak.

“She’s dead now.” No metaphors. That’s Vriska. Kanaya knows this place, she’s been here—one year ago, almost exactly, her mother was dead, too. The others don’t understand. Kanaya pulls Vriska’s head to her shoulder, and folds her arms over Vriska’s back. For once, Vriska doesn't protest.

They stay that way. Kanaya knows there aren't words that help.

“I prayed for her to die.” Vriska doesn't make noise while the tears well up, ringing her brilliant blue irises with red. “What kind of daughter does that? Who prays for that?” Kanaya strokes her fingers over Vriska’s thick, tangled hair. “I don’t even believe in god or anything. Why was I praying?”

Words occur to Kanaya, but she knows better than to say them out loud. This is Vriska after all the thread’s been pulled loose. This is the time for Vriska to spill words to someone who will listen without repeating, or remembering. Kanaya knows. Kanaya’s been pulled loose, too. Words don’t help. Kanaya doesn't say them.

“I wish I could say it was for her own good.” Vriska’s voice wavers and chokes, but her face doesn’t change. “Wish I could say I wanted to put her out of her misery. But that’s lies. I’d be lying.” She sucks in a huge breath, less for emphasis, more because it seems like she had forgotten she needed to keep breathing. “I wanted it to be easier for me.” 

What Kanaya _wants_ : to kiss Vriska. To hold Vriska’s face in her hands and caress those soft lips with her own. To swallow these tears, lick the salt from Vriska’s wounds, press her tongue to every broken edge where Vriska hurts and hold her body til the shaking stops. Kanaya _wants_ to stitch the empty places in their hearts together. Kanaya _wants_ to reach inside the chasm ripped in Vriska’s chest and tug at all the tender places she’s never been able to reach. Kanaya _wants_. Kanaya wants so badly it aches, aches like the day she watched her own mother die, torn and raw and ragged. Kanaya _wants_ Vriska.

That is not what Vriska needs.

Vriska needs someone neutral, and silent, who will not judge the waves that crash against her today. Vriska needs arms around her shoulders and a neck in which to bury her sobs. Vriska needs a hand stroking her back and a wordless voice soothing her tears. 

Kanaya wants a lover. Vriska needs a mother. Kanaya can’t be both.

They hold on to one another. The river of doctors and nurses and patients parts around them, and time slows. In silence, in the eye of the storm, Vriska and Kanaya are alone.

Kanaya says: “It doesn’t get better. It only gets older.” Vriska exhales against her, shuddering.

Second by second, minute by minute, together, they grow older.


End file.
